


Totally Worth It

by Edgebug



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bad Sex, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tickling, accidental violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Jim Gordon Gets Kicked In The Head, Bitten, Commits An Egregious Noise Violation, And Regrets Nothing--Not Necessarily In That Order</p>
            </blockquote>





	Totally Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to thank gobblepotfans on tumblr for this
> 
> bless your heart

"You're getting scruffy," Oswald says, running the backs of his fingers over Jim's cheek.

"Yeah..." Jim sighs, reaching up to scratch his chin. He hasn't shaved in a few days and it's starting to really show. "I should probably do something about it, huh?"

"No!" Oswald yelps, then a furious blush creeps up his cheeks when Jim raises an eyebrow. "I mean--don't grow a full beard, obviously," he flounders, "but the bit of scruff, it, it looks--it looks all right," he says, aiming for nonchalant, and his entire demeanor reminds Jim of a cat when it takes a tumble and tries to convince onlookers that it was deliberate.

"You like it!" he says, a grin creeping over his face. "You like me looking like a lumberjack."

"I just think that the unkempt look fits your crooked persona, is all! It's not as if I have a kink or any--aaaah!" Oswald squeaks as Jim wraps his arms around him and playfully drags his cheek across Oswald's. "You're going to give me beard burn!" He swats at Jim rather ineffectually, and Jim grins ever-harder, kisses Oswald's reddened cheek. "If you've left a mark on me, James," Oswald says haughtily, "how shall I explain this to my mother?!"

"Tell her that a handsome lumberjack roughed you up?"

"You absolute beast," Oswald says, but there's no heat behind his words, especially since he reaches up to run his hands again over the aforementioned scruff.

 

~

 

The knowledge that Oswald likes him with a bit of facial hair is something that Jim would be a fool not to take advantage of, and he has big plans. Oswald keeps stealing glances when he thinks Jim's not looking, keeps looking for excuses to run fingertips over Jim's cheeks and jaw. He's not exactly subtle, but then again, he never is subtle when he wants something from Jim.

So it's pretty inevitable that they end up in bed like this. Oswald's sprawled out on his back, all moonlight-pale and slender limbs, clothes long gone; Jim's stretched out over him, pressing scratchy kisses to the space under Oswald's ear.

He moves down lower, though, kisses a path down the long column of his throat, over his chest where spiderweb scars faintly crisscross, down his trembling stomach. Oswald's pretty much mindless by this point, letting Jim do whatever he wants, and Jim's really not sure what exactly he plans to do. He's going to play things by ear. He nudges Oswald's knees apart and settles between his legs. Oswald spreads his legs almost comically fast and Jim decides to press scratchy, rough little kisses to the stretch of smooth, flawless skin on the inside of Oswald's thighs.

That's roughly when things go directly to hell without making any stops along the way.

The very instant Jim's scruff brushes the soft skin of Oswald's inner thigh, Oswald lets out a loud, undignified, blood-curdling screech and practically convulses, body curling protectively and automatically. Oswald's bony knee slams into Jim's face with what feels like the force of an explosion.

"Jesus _Christ!"_ Jim yelps, sitting back on his haunches, his hands flying to his--cheek? Eye? Where the fuck did Oswald even hit him? The pain is too fresh and diffuse to narrow it down yet but goddamn it hurts and his skull feels like there's a full orchestra playing the 1812 Overture inside it, cannons and all. Especially the cannons. Mostly the fucking cannons.

"Oh my God, _Jim!_ I'm sorry! It tickled!" Oswald blurts out, scrambling from the bed. "Stay there! I'll be right back!"

That's how Jim ends up sitting on his bed stark naked with a bag of frozen peas held against his left eye. "God, Jim. I am so sorry," Oswald says, the very picture of remorse, "I truly apologize. I had no idea that I would have such a reaction."

Jim looks up at Oswald with the eye not currently becoming intimately acquainted with a vegetable. "No kidding," he says flatly. "You're ticklish?"

Oswald nods. "Yes, though I didn't realize _that_ was such a trouble spot! If I had I surely would have warned you away and not _kneed you in the face_ , again, I am so sorry."

"Oz, it's fine." A laugh bubbles up in his chest. "It's hilarious, actually, pain aside." With a wince Jim moves the peas from his face for a moment. "Is it bruising?"

"A bit," Oswald says, and Jim laughs even harder. "What's so funny?!"

"I try to do something nice and sexy for my boyfriend and what does he do?" Jim's laughing so hard it's almost hard to speak. "Screams and knees me in the head!"

"I'm beginning to think you're laughing at me, Jim Gordon!" Oswald snaps. "Put your peas back on!" Jim chortles and does as Oswald demands.

Fortunately, after the pain goes mostly away, Oswald feels the need to apologize very profusely to Jim. With his mouth. Which of course Jim allows, because he's just that kind of swell, forgiving guy.

 

~

 

Maybe nobody at the precinct will notice the bruise.

_"Holy shit!"_

Nevermind.

"Holy shit, Jimbo, who decked you?" Harvey asks, peering at the bruise. "Whoever it was did a good job. Jesus."

"Nothing happened, really, I--I fell," Jim says lamely, and he knows how ridiculous it sounds even as he says it.

"Holy shit," Harvey says for the third time, "it was Cobblepot, wasn't it? You didn't _fall_ , c'mon, Jim--if he's hitting you then I need to have a serious fuckin' talk with the guy and--"

"Harvey," Jim groans. "Okay, yes, it was Oswald, but it's not what you think, okay? I accidentally tickled him and he kneed me in the face. That's the truth, I swear."

Harvey blinks. "He kneed you in the... wait, how--" Jim can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to work out the physical logistics. "Holy shit! It's a _kinky_ thing! That's why you tried to say you fell!"

"Harvey, it's _not_ a kinky thing! _Literally_ , I--"

"Jim! I don't wanna hear about your sexcapades!"

Jim buries his face in his hands and groans loudly.

Somehow, through the day, the rumor spreads that Jim Gordon Has Crazy Violent Sex.

~

 

It's the next day that Jim gets a wonderful, terrible, brilliant, horrible idea. It happens when he's sitting on the sofa next to Oswald, telling him all about his horrific day. "...And then Ed shows up and calmly says that fifteen percent of the population is into 'that kind of stuff,' and as if _that_ wasn't awkward enough the entire precinct seemed to be convinced I spent the night at the goddamn Foxglove or something."

Oswald is laughing like this is the most hilarious thing he's ever heard. Jim's eyes narrow. "This is your fault," he grumbles.

"How so?" Oswald says, challenging.

"You're the one who gave me this bruise. If it wasn't for you I'd be bruise-free and nobody at work would think me some kind of deviant."

That's when the horrible, wonderful idea creeps across his brain.

"Yes, well, what's done is done," Oswald says airily. "What do you want for--"

"It'd be a shame if someone ever decided to take," Jim says slowly, inching closer, "advantage of your sensitivity. In revenge."

Oswald looks confused for a second before his eyes widen and he scrambles back away from Jim on the couch. "Jim--no! James Gordon, don't you _dare_ \--"

There's danger in his tone but it's too late for him. Jim moves quick as a cat and has him pinned firmly to the couch with the length of his body, his fingers digging into Oswald's sides and soft stomach. Oswald yelps and dissolves into frantic laughter, hands reflexively trying to cover his stomach or block Jim's fingers but there's no use. Jim's heavier and stronger and he's got Oswald firmly pinned and Oswald is absolutely helpless--the small man is laughing so hard he can't form words and Jim can feel his chest heaving hard. After a few moments he abandons Oswald's soft tummy to instead move his hands to the backs of Oswald's knees and thighs.

At that Oswald screeches deafeningly and tries to fold up tighter under Jim's onslaught. His laughter, previously raucous, has quieted into quick, pained wheezing faintly colored with giggles. "M-Mercy!" he manages, the word mostly strained breath rather than sound. "Have _mercy!"_

Jim grins and finally lets up, sitting back on his haunches; Oswald scrambles out from under him and settles onto the couch comfortably again, panting hard, hands over his stomach, his muscles surely aching from all the laughter. "Jim, I am g-going to have you _fileted!"_ he wheezes out, residual giggles still playing under his voice even as he tries to sound haughty and dangerous.

"You watch your tone, mister. I know your weakness now." Jim raises a hand, wiggles his fingers. "I'm not scared of you."

_"Jim, I swear to God--"_

Jim's phone rings.

"Saved by the bell," he jokes before grabbing his phone off his coffee table and answering. "This is Gordon."

"Jim," Harvey's voice comes tinny through the speaker, "you wanna tell me why I just had to stop a black-and-white from driving to your apartment to investigate a noise complaint?"

Jim blinks. "Oh god."

"The old lady above you called and said she heard a man screaming in the apartment below," Harvey barrels on, " _don't tell me._ Don't _tell_ me. Just keep your freaky shit quiet next time, you hear?"

"Harvey, it wasn't--!" Jim tries to explain but Harvey laughs and hangs up, and Jim is left staring at his cell phone, dumbstruck. Jim looks over at Oswald. Oswald stares at him. From Oswald's expression, Jim knows he heard the entire conversation.

There's a long silence before Oswald starts laughing. It's not a being-tickled laugh this time. It's a smug _cackle_. "Dug that grave a bit further, didn't you, Detective!" he crows.

Jim slams down his phone. "Well, the noise problem is easily fixed," Jim says, and launches at Oswald again, this time pressing one hand over Oswald's mouth and the other getting shoved under Oswald's shirt to attack him again.

Jim gets his hand bitten. He knows he totally deserved it. He also knows it was _totally worth it._


End file.
